Time for Fools
by jhm.59
Summary: This is a time travel piece. I was quite leery of writing one again because there are so many hoops and 'laws' to jump through when it comes to such a piece. This is NOT a romance piece. I am experimenting with it to see where it goes; it is intended to be a comedy of sorts. Rated M just to be safe.
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: I own no one from the Patriot. Also, this is NOT a story about Harriet Tubman in any way, in case someone wants to get me for portraying a story about a real person. **

Eee! Nat's alarm broke the din of her darkened room.

"What the..." she groaned, blinking a sleep-filled eye at the small red desk-clock, "It's five thirty! And Saturday!"

With a lazy slap, she silenced the alarm and turned over to go back to bed when she heard a crashing ruckus coming from outside her bedroom door, followed by a series of frantic barks and a yell.

"Good, Mo got 'em then," she muttered, getting out of bed and started toward her door, and grabbed a can of pepperspray along the way.

There had been a series of break-ins near her apartment and the thugs appeared to be growing bolder.

Nat paused, listening behind her bedroom door, snickering when she heard a string of curse words, followed by a kick and the yelp of her beagle mix. In frustration, she thrust open the door and yelled, "What the hell do ya think you're doing?! That's my dog!"

Before her stood a man, unusually dressed in a certain uniform, of red and green. He kept his hair long but pulled back. The man unquestionably stood out; he was dressed for cold weather and it was clearly summer outside.

"Contain that _creature_, will you?" he asked rudely.

"The fuck are you?!" Nat blurted, taken aback by his strong accent.

The man's eyes narrowed and he stepped forward; Nat's hands faltered and she failed to release the pepperspray.

"That is no way for a lady to speak," he said smoothly.

Nat raised a brow, tucking a strand of two-tone, chestnut and blonde hair behind a _very_ pierced ear.

"Oooo-kay... if you're looking for the freak show, you've reached the wrong address."

"I beg your pardon?"

"The psych ward, then?" Nat offered.

The man gave her a piercing stare, making her feel as if _she_ was the crazy one of the two of them.

"Who are you?" she finally asked.

"I should ask _you_ the same," he replied smartly.

"Nat," she said in a flat voice.

"Nat," he mused, "like a _boy_ or a _bug_?"

"Forget it!" she snapped. "You can leave!"

"And where would I go?" he asked, giving her dog a look of disgust as the animal walked up and nudged him.

"What do you mean? Are you really _that_ stupid?" Nat demanded, visibly irritated.

"Perhaps I have failed to explain myself; I am Colonel William Tavington-"

"And I'm Harriet Tubman!" Nat cut in.

"Who is she?"

The woman laughed.

"I can't believe this! You really _are_ a nut job!"

"No; last I checked, I was sober." Tavington answered, his ire beginning to show.

"No opiates?"

"Not since last week. Christ, will you just _let me through_?"

"Not until I figure out how you got separated from the circus and got into my apartment!"

"Well I didn't ask to be here!" Tavington shot.

"Of course! It was a simple magic..._trick_."

Nat's mind raced, the events of the previous night flooding her mind. She had been out and had a couple of drinks. Not enough to make her drunk but enough to get her tipsy. On the way home, she happened upon a haggard, homeless man with long, stringy grey hair. He heckled her for a couple of blocks, claiming that he could bring someone, anyone she desired, back from the past. Afraid that he would not leave her alone, she paid a small fee and told him to bring back whomever he pleased. He took the money with a particularly greedy smile and began to recite an incantation, jerking his arms about in a fit. Once finished, he told her to leave and wait until the morning.

"Holy shit, that ratter was't kidding," she spoke to herself.

"What ratter?" Tavington asked, still disgusted by her profanity.

"Never mind. You need _clothes_."


	2. Chapter 2

"Clothes?" Tavington replied, shoving Mo back down on the floor where the dog attempted to jump up and greet him.

"_Clothes_." Nat answered briskly. "You're not wearing that shit around town; you'll look worse than a drag queen."

"_This_ is _shit_?" the colonel raised his voice defensively. "This _uniform_ cost me half my earnings!"

"Yeah, well, it's shit. Jeans and a t-shirt are on the menu." Nat answered. "Now, go sit down while I wash up."

"Where?"

"Down the hall. And _don't_ touch _anything_."

Tavington raised a brow and walked past the woman to a small room with two couches and a host of other items with which he was wholly unfamiliar. Sitting gingerly upon one of the couches, he almost immediately stood back up, but contented himself with prodding at it, removing his riding gloves to get a better feel.

"Leather…"

Tavingtons sank further into the couch, about to take a rare moment to relax when suddenly, Nat's flat screen television blared to life with the latest news; it had been set on a timer.

"What on earth…" The colonel jumped and stared in momentary horror as a man appeared on the screen and began to babble about the weather.

"And today's high looks to be another hot one, eighty degrees…"

"How…?" Tavington puzzled before approaching the television. "Sir, how did you get in there? And how do you know such things?"

No answer.

"Can you hear me?"

"With a low of seventy five…"

"Sir, are you a witch?" Tavington raised his voice in exasperation.

Mo came dashing clumsily into the room, knocking his shoulder into a nearby tabletop as he wagged his tail exuberantly at the stir being made.

"Get–out." the colonel remarked with dislike.

Mo barked, ever so pleased to be given attention.

"_Get out_!" Col. Tavington snapped.

The beagle mix whined, lowered his ears and clambered out of the room, tail tucked between his legs. No sooner had Mo made his exit then there was the rushing sound of water.

"Oh dear god, this place isn't flooding, is it?"

Leaving the room, Tavington made his way, with some difficulty, to Nat's bathroom door, tripping over Mo along the way (the dog had decided to lie down just feet from the bathroom door).

"Mongrel," he murmured under his breath before knocking on the door.

"Can you hear me? Are you all right?"

No response. Nat had music turned up in the bathroom and could not hear him.

Tavington tried again.

"Excuse me…_Nat_!"

Waiting no longer, the colonel pushed the door open and was greeted with a cloud of steam.

"Bloody hell-"

"Oh my god!" Nat screamed in surprise. "Get out, goddammit! Jesus Christ, I'm showering!"

"So it's not flooding, then?" Tavington managed through the shock, trying to wave off the steam.

"No! Get out!" Nat yelled.

Too surprised to argue, the officer stumbled out of the bathroom where Mo greeted him with a certain smug expression.

"Piss off," he muttered.

* * *

Fifteen minutes later, Nat stepped out of the bathroom and experienced a second scare when Col. Tavington, who had been waiting in the hallway, turned to her and said, "Dear god, woman, are you going out in _that_?"

"It's a towel, dammit, and cut the 'woman' crap. My _name_ is _Nat_."

She hurried to her room and locked the door behind her.

"Good shit, he has _no_ sense of privacy," she murmured to herself.

There was a scratching noise at the door, followed by a whine.

"Forget it, Mo," Nat yelled through the door. You can deal with Mister Crazy-Pants for thirty more seconds."

Quickly amassing a pair of worn jeans, an old tank-top and a light, zip-up hoodie, Nat threw them hastily over a pair of black hipster underwear and a simple black bra before she stepped into a pair of cheap, knock-off flip flops.

"Let's go," she said, pushing past Tavington and whistling for Mo, who was all too happy to follow her out the door.

"What the hell are you wearing?" the colonel deadpanned.

"Clothes." Nat replied shortly.

Tavington stepped closer to her to inspect. The near proximity made her nervous and she caught his scent, something wild, brimming with adrenaline and dripping with power.

"Damn, you have bubble issues," Nat muttered.

"What is _this_?" the colonel asked, ignoring her as his eyes lingered on her bra-strap.

"Undergarment." she replied tersely.

Col. Tavington curled his lip in dislike.

"So, you're going to walk about like a common doxie, are you?" he sneered. "Dressed in _men's trousers…_"

At that moment, Mo howled desperately, stopping any retaliation from Nat.

"Dog's gotta go…"

"What?" Tavington asked bluntly.

Nat hissed in annoyance. "He's gotta take a _load off_." She answered, finding Mo's leash and clipping it to his Lupine collar. "Let's go!"

Pushing the door open, Nat led them out to a patch of grass just outside her apartment where Mo sniffed for a good minute and then emptied his bowels. Retrieving a bag attached to his leash, Nat looked over at Tavington, who appeared as if he would be sick.

"They fine you if you don't clean up the shit, deal with it."

"That is one of the most _pathetic_ things I have seen. Slavish…"

Nat snorted, cleaned up the mess, and stood to face the officer, eying him up.

"Well I can't take you out in that jacket. They'll think I'm off my rocker. Hmm…" she thought a moment and then spoke, "You're about my brother's size. I have one of his old blazers."

"Blazer?"

"Never mind, _come here_."

Leading them back into the house, Nat unclipped Mo, who bounded to the television room and leapt up on the couch with a satisfied groan.

"In my room."

Tavington stopped dead in the middle of the hall, crossing his arms with an indignant stare.

"I think _not_."

"The blazer is in my room."

"Normally, I would accept such an offer, however, I am _not_ going into your quarters."

"Fine, but you _are_ wearing the blazer." Nat snapped.

She disappeared momentarily and came back with a dark, nearly new denim blazer.

"Jaxon hardly used it, said it was too casual," she spoke more to herself. "Anyway, try it on…" Nat said, suddenly feeling nervous.

"Well at least it _looks_ decent." Col. Tavington scoffed, removing his scabbard, holster, and waistcoat. Underneath was a thin linen shirt; Nat could see his skin flushed beneath the material and looked away.

"Take this then," Tavington pushed his waistcoat into her arms while snatching the blazer from her.

"What am I, your maid?" Nat retorted.

"That had better stay _pressed_."

"Right…" Nat groaned as the colonel pulled the blazer on, straightening the shoulders as he went.

"It's….airy…"

"Well shit, you were wearing a wool bandage beforehand."

Tavington's eyes narrowed to near slits, their glacial hue bright, even in the dim light.

"All right, _all right_, you like your jacket; jeez!" Nat sputtered. "You still look out of place. We need jeans, some shirts and a…._haircut_." she finished with an impish grin.

Tavington simmered.

"You will _not_ take me to some riffraff place to cut _my_ hair. No, it will be as it is."

"Do you want to look like a hippie?" Nat snapped.

"That is one thing you will _not_ change!" the colonel answered heatedly.

"Fine! Jeans, t-shirts and shirts… and boxers and socks."

"Boxers?"

Nat reddened.

"You're not going commando under there."

"Pardon?"

"Underwear!" she shouted. "Damn you!"

"I like to _breathe_," Tavington replied, clenching his fists.

"Well I don't need to see you 'breathing', okay? Just…no."

"Very well, what do these _boxers_ look like, hm?" the colonel scintillated.

Nat phrased her words carefully.

"Like trousers cut above the knee."

"Breeches, then?"

"No, not quite. But they're comfortable."

Col. Tavington eyed her suspiciously, raising an intense brow.

"They make them for women too," Nat covered.

"Christ, what has happened to this place?" Tavington muttered.

"We'll have a beer tonight and I'll tell you all about it."


	3. Chapter 3

It took several agonizing minutes for Nat to figure out how to explain transport to Col. Tavington.

"All right, so, we are leaving in a _horseless_ _carriage_; got that?"

"_Horseless_, you say? Tell me, what pulls it then? Slaves? Servants?"

"Momentum, gas…never mind. It's really fast. A whole lot faster than a horse."

Tavington appeared to perk at the notion.

"A horseless carriage that does not require pulling… are you stark-raving mad?"

"Nope." Nat replied shortly, dearly wishing to avoid a lengthened conversation.

"It's called a 'car', just so you know. Don't need people looking at you all funny for calling it a carriage."

The colonel almost replied when Nat cut him off and called Mo away from the television room.

"_He_ is coming along?"

"He'll pee on the carpet if he doesn't."

"A pleasant observation, no?" Tavington replied dryly.

Nat said nothing and led the dog and soldier to her car, a green Volkeswagon Jetta.

Tavington's curiosity piqued but she gave him a look and he got into the car (with careful directions, of course).

"What is this? Some sort of poor binding? My worst soldiers tie better knots than this," the colonel spoke, pulling at the seatbelt.

"It will keep you safe if we crash."

"Crash?! We are going to _crash_?!" Tavington asked sharply, his eyes darting in and out of the vehicle.

"If you keep freaking out, probably!" Nat hissed. "Just sit there and twiddle your thumbs or something… don't touch anything _here_," she gestured at the dashboard.

Mo, who had been sitting obediently in the back of the car, climbed in between the front seats and planted what he thought was a show of devoted affection upon the side of Col. Tavington's face, barking with loud, appreciative declaration. Nat stifled a laugh as the colonel gave the eager pup a forceful shove back in his seat.

"Aww, he's not _that_ bad."

"His breath," sniffed Tavington, "it smells like… well, what do you call something so horridly foul?"

Nat frowned, turned the ignition on and put the Jetta in reverse. The colonel sat mute and tense, clenching his fists before pulling absentmindedly at the blazer. There were so many questions to ask, yet this strange woman with the name of a bug had made it quite clear she was not going to share answers so readily.

A mile into the drive, Mo was snoring loudly in the back seat, blissfully oblivious to his surroundings while Col. Tavington turned to eye him with a mixture of amusement and disdain, wrinkling his nose when he noticed a string of saliva dangling precariously from the dog's lip. Nat decided to break the silence with some music and took out a mix cd from her visor flap case. Immediately, Garth Brooks' voice came to life through the speakers and Tavington turned to Nat with an expression like he had just discovered gold but had no thought as to where to put it.

"This voice, where does it come from? Did you conjure it?" he asked in wonder.

Nat reddened.

_Shit, he has a lot to learn_…

"It's music," she answered, trying to begin with a simple explanation.

"Music?" Tavington raised a brow; for the first time, Nat noticed just how blue his eyes were; it unnerved her so. They looked soulless, a stark contrast to her muddy hazel eyes which seemed to shamelessly reflect every single emotion she flipped through in her daily routines.

"Yes, it's music," she answered, turning her attention back to the road while Mo snored and twitched in his sleep.

"Well it's _awful_, _rubbish_," the colonel declared.

"It is not!" Nat argued. "Besides, I am driving; we listen to what _I_ want."

"So you will torture your poor guest with this…_music_?" Tavington smirked. "That is _not_ music, Nat. _That_ is someone talking in tune."

Nat was not about to complain; traffic was bogging down and she needed to concentrate. Reaching out with a slender but nail-bitten hand, she twisted the track dial until she reached her favorite movie score.

The colonel appeared to favor the score and relaxed while it played, closing his eyes momentarily.

A short time later, Nat pulled into the shady spot of a Target parking lot. With a little explaining, Tavington was free of his seatbelt and figured out the car door on his own. Nat let Mo out for a short 'business trip' and then put him back in the car. Col. Tavington, still amazed at the ingenuity of the car, told Nat how impressive the speed of it was; faster and smoother than any mount he had ridden. The woman flushed in embarrassment and said nothing.

"All right, we're going into the store. I want to take as little time as possible. Follow me closely and don't say anything. It's better to look like a mute than a moron."

With that, she all but dragged the soldier into the stoor. Immediately, Tavington was overwhelmed with the sights. Items were stacked high and deep on endless rows of shelves. There were so many of them he wondered how the people around him managed to stack so many into their 'horseless carts' and be able to afford everything.

"What is this…Snickers?" he asked, taking a candy bar from one of the shelves and turning it over in his hand.

"Sweets," Nat replied shortly, taking the bar from him and set it back on the shelf.

Fifteen seconds later, they were in the men's apparel section. Nat quickly grabbed a bulk pack of socks and stuck it in her cart.

"What are those?"

"Stockings."

"They hardly reach up my leg."

"Right, so you won't look like the newest loser on the block when you're wearing them," Nat replied acidly.

Tavington's eyes narrowed.

"Well they're _black_. I could have bought you _white _ones."

The colonel conceded with a grumpy murmur and they proceeded to find 'trousers'. This was surprisingly easy for Nat; Tavington liked the first two pairs she showed him. The boxers, however, were another story.

"These are comfortable, you say?" Col. Tavington asked in disbelief, holding a pair of grey boxers at arms' length. "They'll go all the way up."

"No they won't." Nat replied. "There's elastic," she explained, showing him the waistband. "Better than buttons for this sort of thing.

"If there are no buttons then how––"

"There's a slit," Nat covered, feeling her ears grow hot. "Look, they're comfortable and convenient."

"They're _godawful_…"

"And you're going to wear them _anyway_!"

Nat picked three pairs of grey mens' boxers, chewing her fingernails intermittently, and finished with shirts. Again, Tavington seemed aware enough to choose on his own and picked two fitted shirts, one white and one blue, along with a black, light-weight hoodie. Nat chose a cobalt grey sweatshirt to go with the rest of his things.

"Shoes! That's right!" she announced as they were about to make their way to the checkout line. "Stay here; _don't_ move!"

Rushing back to the men's footwear, she left Tavington standing alone by the checkout counters. A little girl with blonde pigtails approached and the colonel met her gaze with a look of perplexed politeness, his eyes flashing warily.

"You look funny; your shirt is all ruffled."

"And your dress is on backwards, cretin." Tavington responded offhandedly, without missing a step.

The girl screwed up her baby-fat face and complained, "It is _not_! That would be stupid!"

"Well I guess your are then, aren't you?" Tavington purred, changing his look of annoyance to ire.

The girls' eyes grew watery and she left, bawling at the top of her voice.

"Got your shoes!" Nat announced, returning with a pair of clearance running shoes.

"Why do they let children in here?" Col. Tavington asked, still preoccupied with the girl. "They're so..."

"Yeah yeah, you're out of date, deal with it."

Tavington followed Nat through the checkout line, and, after a moment of being pulled away from the tabloids, they reached the parking lot and were starting back to Nat's house.

"Well, you're not _impossible_ to shop with. Awkward as hell, but not impossible." Nat attempted, but the colonel was not listening.

"Why is it called Target? There are no targets are arms in the place…And who in their right mind would name a sweet after impetuous laughter?"


	4. Chapter 4

Somehow, Nat managed to make the trip back to her car, convincing the colonel to change into a set of the new clothing she bought him.

"I don't like them," Tavington complained about a pair of jeans she had purchased; he grabbed uncomfortably at the crotch. "This… _zipper_… whatever the blast it is, is too high up. How can I expect to walk about in this mess without being pinched?"

Nat rolled her eyes and beckoned for him to get into the car. To her surprise, he almost looked natural, only pausing briefly to watch her put her seatbelt on before following suit.

"This _car_… impossible. It does exactly what you want it to without the aid of reins or discipline."

"Look, I'd really love to teach you all about cars but I don't have the time; we'll look it up online." Nat hinted bleak irritation.

"On a line? By a cable of sorts? But how?" Tavington asked, genuinely confused. "The resources needed for-"

"Holy shit, it's just a way to look things up!"

Col. Tavington flashed her an angry look.

"What on _earth_ possesses you to speak with such _vulgar_ candor? From now on, I _forbid_ it!"

Nat snorted, ducking back into her lane after treading lightly over the center lane.

"_You_ are going to stop me?! Shit, you wouldn't last two minutes here!"

"But I am a _guest_, yes?" the colonel simmered.

"Haphazardly, perhaps," Nat replied tightly, coming to a stop at a red light.

"Then I _insist_ on being treated as a _guest_, haphazard or _not_."

"Or what?" Nat growled, stepping excitedly on the acceleration; the car jerked forward. "Pull the tiniest amount of crap and I'll have you in chains."

"Only if I am caught," Col. Tavington replied with a smug, comfortable tone.

"Which would be _so hard_ to do…"

Tavington's complacent expression broadened.

"Miss Nat, I have based my _entire_ career on brute force, trickery, and lies," he patronized her, reaching coyly into her purse, for he had noticed her pocket knife peeking out from it earlier. "You are no better than anyone else."

Col. Tavington produced her single-blade knife and, just as they wheeled to another stop, pressed the silvery metal to her throat and she gasped.

"What the fuck?! You're gonna get us killed!"

"Do we have an accord then?" the colonel asked unyieldingly, pressing further with the blade.

"Yes! Fine! Put the damn knife away, for fuck's sake!" Nat squeaked.

Tavington lowered the knife and folded it away.

"It is stifling." He spoke up in a light voice as if nothing had occurred moments before.

"Roll the window down," Nat replied smartly.

"How would I 'roll' it down? You cannot simply fold a sheet of glass in upon itself."

Nat took a breath.

"Okay, the crank, there," she gestured to the window crank, thankful for the first time that her car did not have automatic windows. "Turn it."

Tavington gave the thing an experimental turn to the left and paused when the window opened just a crack.

"Maddening…" he spoke with wonder.

"Hey, keep your revelations to yourself, yeah? No crazy shit."

He fell silent and stared directly ahead at the road, thinking to himself how smooth these 'paths' were in comparison to the ones he was familiar with.

Nat maintained a quiet mood until they pulled up into the drive and offered Tavington a rare, sympathetic look.

"I suppose I owe you an explanation on things…"


	5. Chapter 5

Tavington, however relieved at Nat's recant, did not speak until they were in the house.

"Sit down," Nat gestured to one of the couches in the television room." You said you would serve drinks," Tavington spoke, feeling his way on the couch when he sat down.

"In a bit. You should be sound for the important stuff."

"Is it really so terrible?"

Before Nat could reply, Mo struggled onto the couch, breathing in Tavington's face.

"For the love of fuck, get _off_!" the colonel growled with a raised voice.

"Mo, get down and give him a break," Nat called.

The beagle mix whined.

"Get down," she repeated sternly.

Mo licked his lips, taking a moment to contemplate before he hopped down and gave his mistress an affectionate shove with his nose.

"All right, ya bug, go lie down for a bit," she patted his head.

Mo barked with glee and trotted off to his bed, a large fleece cushion in the corner of the room.

"That _thing_ sleeps _inside_?" Tavington asked in disgust.

"Yup, he does. And you'll be sharing _this_ room with him.

"You would have me stay on the couch?" the colonel demanded.

"Yeah, I guess," Nat replied offhandedly.

"Then he sleeps _outside_! I will not have such _beasts_ for nighttime company."

"Can't; he'll howl all night."

Tavington boiled.

"Your dog has more social standing than a barn cat!" he said.

"Yeah, he does! If you're going to get all pissy about it, then you, sir, can sleep out on the _porch_." She replied edgily.

"I just _might_!" Tavington hissed.

"But first, you want to find out why you're _here_." Nat interrupted.

"Yes," the colonel answered tightly.

"It's really not much of a story, but there is some magic," she offered.

"Witches? You're consorting with those who specialize in dark practices?"

"No," Nat spoke quickly. "There were not witches."

"You have disembodied voices that talk, and you're telling _me_ that this was not witches' play?"

"It wasn't a witch," Nat repeated adamantly. "Do you even believe in that stuff anyway?"

"There is truth in every tale."

"Fine, but are you superstitious?"

Tavington stnorted.

"If I was so foolish, I would not have made it so far. However, considering the current situation, I haven't the slightest idea of what I should see as truth or illusion."

_And I haven't even showed him the iPhone_, Nat thought, chewing her nails.

"Why am I here, Nat," Tavington interrupted her thoughts, jumping right to the topic of discussion.

"It's not that interesting; you're not here for any particularly important reason. It was an accident."

"An _accident_," the colonel repeated. "if I am here, not back in my own time, could there not be grave consequences for such a thing? You've _muddled_ with _my_ life." He finished in a casual tone that belied the seriousness he was actually implying.

Nat paled enough for Tavington to notice; he raised a scrutinizing brow and relaxed on the couch, resting one leg over the other.

"Okay, it's not funny," she mumbled.

"Go on," the colonel grated, becoming impatient.

"You know, maybe I should get those beers."

Nat moved to stand but Tavington ordered her to sit with a sudden guttural noise.

"You will tell me how I got here first."

"And then drinks," she asked, beginning to panic as she looked down at her ruined nails.

"Perhaps, if they don't taste like camel piss." He answered rudely. "Get on with it then; I'm already over two hundred years old."

"Oh," Nat replied dully.

"Dammit, girl, get on with it!" he snapped.

Nat flinched.

"Let me figure out how to say it first!"

The soldier groaned, setting his mouth in a thin line that twitched at the corners. After a minute, Nat decided to speak.

"Okay, so, I was out in town with some friends; just spending the night together, socializing, whatever you call it…"

"Mingling…"

"Yeah that," Nat answered. "So, I had a few drinks-"

Col. Tavington let out an audible sigh. This woman had been intoxicated when the idea to call him from the past occurred. How very convenient!

"You were sloshed, then," he asked in disgust."

"No," Nat replied firmly. "I was warm, but not _drunk_. Buzzed."

"Buzzed?"

"Yes, _buzzed_. Inebriated but not drunk."

"Fine." He answered stoutly.

"Anyway, I had some drinks and decided to go home."

"You did have an escort-"

"No," Nat replied. "I was close enough to home."

"Riffraff…"

"So, I was almost home and came up to this weird homeless dude…"

She silenced Tavington before he could protest.

"Relax, he didn't hurt me!" she said urgently. "Moving on… I thought he was just a nobody on the streets; didn't even get his name. But he kept _bugging_ me-"

"A strange man accosts you and you did not get his name?! What is wrong with you?!" the colonel demanded, sitting straight up on the couch, balling his fists.

"Let me _finish_!" Nat implored. "He kept bugging me, telling me he had the power to bring back people from the past; if I paid some money, he would call anyone I wanted back to the future. I thought it was shit, so I tried to leave… crazy bastard followed me."

Tavington humphed, looking most irritated. Nat continued.

"I didn't want him to follow me all the way home, so I paid him and told him to call whomever he wanted back to the future. So he did; he did this silly incantation and creepy dance; then he told me to go back home and wait until morning. That is when I found you…"

Tavington had no answer; he was still trying to comprehend the entirety of the situation they were in.

"It must be sorcery," he murmured, steepling his fingers.

"Do you remember anything, just before you left?"

The colonel frowned thoughtfully, softening his gaze as he turned his thoughts from anger to speculation. He was still shocked, but thought it best not to pitch a fit just yet.

"I was taking advantage of a light rest in the mess tent, just before patrol. There was a falling sensation and I landed on my back in the middle of your house, happily greeted by that _canine_ of yours," he scorned.

Nat smiled weakly, her ears pink with embarrassment.

"I'll get the beer."


	6. Chapter 6

An hour passed, then another. Tavington had hardly consumed half of the Corona Nat had given him and sat, half slumped on the couch, squinting at the amber liquid in the bottle.

"A 'bottle'," he murmured.

"Yeah?" Nat replied more loudly than was needed. "How'd it taste?"

"Like piss; how the bleeding hell do you consume this…_beer_?"

"It gets the job done," Nat said stubbornly, taking another draw of alcohol.

"You're drunk."

"Yeahhh," Nat grinned, "But onny alil…"

"Give me the bottle," he reached for the drink.

"No, you ruin the fun," she recoiled, holding the bottle out of Tavington's reach.

He scowled and reached out once more.

"_NO_!" Nat screeched, trying to jump off her couch but ended up tripping. "Whathe hell?!" she yelped when he grabbed her arms and pulled her up, holding them behind her.

"You're drunk, and I will _not_ be responsible for your pathetic antics!" Tavington hissed.

Mo, who had been sound asleep on his bed in the corner, peered upward and let out a grunting sniff.

"You can' arrst me!" Nat squeaked.

"Shut up!" the colonel growled, forcing her to step forward; the beer had been neglected, toppled over on the floor.

"Fuck you," Nat hurled back.

Tavington kneed her left calf.

"Oof!"

"_Move_, damn you!"

The two struggled all the way out of the room to Nat's bedroom where Tavington all but dropped her unceremoniously on the bed.

"Ow!" Nat cried petulantly.

The colonel sniffed, narrowing his eyes at her.

"_Go to bed_."

Before she could protest, he snapped the door closed and returned to the television room, where Mo was happily licking the spot of beer on the carpet.

"Maggot!" he scorned, stepping toward Mo, who was still caught in happy oblivion.

With a firm grip, he took hold of Mo's collar and pulled him back two feet.

"Over there!" he said roughly, gesturing to Mo's bed.

The dog's ears drooped and his eyes took on a watery glaze.

"Bed! _Now_!" the colonel jabbed the air in irritation.

Mo whined and moved to follow Tavington's command; however, just a foot from his bed, he stopped and squatted. The colonel howled.

"You goddamned fucking beast!" he seethed.

"Get out! OUT!"

The beagle mix cowered and slunk out of the room toward Nat's door.

Tavington stood in the middle of the room, huffing, trying to figure out what to do next. He supposed he should clean the messes, but with what? He had yet to see anything that resembled a cleaning item in Nat's apartment. Where would he look?

"The cupboards," the colonel murmured.

The place he had noticed that contained the most cupboards was the kitchen; he'd look there first.

Stepping into the kitchen, Tavington mentally sifted through his options as to where the cleaning things might be. Logic from his time, taught him that dishes were more likely to be on the upper shelves, in the high cupboards. To test this, he walked over to the far left cupboard and opened it. Stacked high and neat, were some plain, white ceramic plates.

"All right…"

Moving to the next cupboard, he prised it open and found a tiny stack of blue packets.

"Tro-jan…" he cocked his head, turning the packets over in his hand. "Textured…what?"

Raising a brow, Tavington pocketed the packets; he'd ask Nat about those later, in the meantime, there were the bottom cupboards to search.

On a lucky whim, Tavington opened the doors just below the sink and instead of finding a wooden bucket, he discovered a host of cleaning solutions.

"Dawn, Comet, _Arm and Hammer_?" he questioned. "Hmm…Shout. How in-," he turned the bottle of Dawn over and glanced at the instructions printed on the back label, quickly figuring out that if he wanted to find the right cleaning materials, he needed to look at all of the solutions before him.

"Not Comet… toilet cleaner? What on earth…? Ah, Shout… cleans odors and stains…"

It took a few extra minutes for him to gather a damp cloth, for Tavington could hardly comprehend how water came flowing freely, at will, from the sink. He figured it out completely by experimentation (thankfully, he did not experiment with the stove!), as he did not wish to disturb Nat in order to find out.

"Oh!" he let out a small cry as he shifted the nozzle on the faucet, turning the water from cold to steaming. "Offoffoff!" he turned it to the right, making the water run cold again. Nonono!"

With a knee-jerk reaction, he pushed the nozzle down the middle and the faucet shut off.

"My god, why is this so _complicated_," he wondered with a wary look back at the sink, hand still stinging from the release of hot water.

Hesitating, he turned the water on once more, to cold, and dipped a rag that he had fetched from under the sink, into the flow.

"Now, _off_," he spoke in a strong voice, switching the faucet to the middle.

Taking the damp rag and Shout in hand, Tavington made his way back to the television room, where Mo was snoring contentedly in his corner.

"Ugh…"

Deciding to get rid of Mo's urine puddle that has sunk into the carpet, he sprayed some solution on it and began scrubbing.

"Slave work…" he hissed. "I should have you _shot_," he said mutinously, wrinkling his nose as the faint smell of urine wafted from the carpet fibers. "This had better come _clean_."

Although it had had more time to sink into the carpet, the mess left by Nat's beer was far easier to lift than the pet-stain. Still feeling morally wounded from such work, Tavington shoved the solution back under the sink, throwing the rag carelessly in after it.

"_Childish_..." he grated, returning to the television room with a frown. "Of course… _coverlets_…" Tavington rolled his eyes.

The only 'blanket' in sight was Mo's tattered doggy blanket and he certainly would _not_ stoop to _that_!

"You've got to be kidding me, woman-"

Tavington glanced from one couch to the other; no blankets. He got up, still puzzled by the texture of the carpet; it felt oddly fuzzy beneath his now bare feet (he had removed his boots when he reached the room). He paused a moment, flexing his toes on the new tan-colored surface.

"It doesn't _itch_. And it isn't wool."

Deciding he would finish that musing at a more convenient time, the colonel continued to look for some sort of bed covering, and raised a brow of barely-noticeable satisfaction when he found a blue, woolen thing. It smelled of dust and age, but it would suffice. He inhaled the scent from one of its corners and nearly smiled.

_Just like the old quilts at home_…

Returning to the couch, Tavington made a small, simple yet meticulous 'cot' and settled in to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

William Tavington had barely been set upon a restful sleep for an hour when he awoke with panicked wide eyes.

_Where the hell am I? What am I doing here? Where are my men? Where is my horse? __**Where am I?**_

"My god," his breath came in fearful gasps as his eyes darted over to Mo, who was snoring loudly in his bed, and back up at the ceiling; his breathing was now ragged.

"My god-" Tavington sat up, choking for air; the blanket fell from his chest.

"What has happened?"

He got up from the couch, still affected by the carpet and left the room; the urge for personal relief had caught him before he could further his fit.

"Where to go?" he wondered aloud.

The colonel had seen nothing that resembled a chamber pot. Another issue he would bring to light with Nat; after all, what decent human creature did not own a chamber pot?

"Piss it," he groaned, heading to the front door. "Curses, this is _not_ a latch-hook!" Tavington's voice grew louder as he shook the doorknob. "And no _candles_… what the hell is wrong with everyone?!"

After an exasperated pause, he tried the knob once more and it opened.

"For fuck's sake," the colonel muttered unnecessarily; his bladder was getting the best of him.

Stepping outside, Tavington nearly forgot what he was doing as he was met with a view of…_concrete_.

"They're paved," he marveled. "No stones…"

Without any cautionary though, he made his way to the side of the road and gingerly touched the pavement.

"There are rocks of a sort, but they are not stone or brick… A carriage could go so much faster on this…"

Suddenly, a honking noise; Tavington looked up just in time to see a car hurling toward him, and he stood to avoid the blinding lights coming from the front of it. The vehicle came to a rubber-burning halt in front of him and he startled when the driver honked.

"What the fuck are ya doin'?!" a man who looked to be about twenty, poked his head out of the driver-side window.

Tavington sneered.

"My dear boy, please, come again?"

"Fuck you!" the man snapped, holding up his middle finger.

In less than a blink, the colonel met him with an iron grip on the impertinent digit, twisting it slowly counterclockwise.

"Shit! The hell?!"

"Now, I was enjoying a peaceful evening, pensive perhaps," Tavington spoke in a steely calm voice, adding more pressure until the man couldn't even gasp for words. "Shall we keep it that way?"

The driver, eyes watering, managed a most agonizing moan.

"Very well," Col. Tavington released him. "A warning to you, and _begone_."

The man squealed off and the colonel, remembering his original priority, found a nearly secluded hedge and unbuttoned his 'jeans'.

"_Mercy_," he sighed with relief. "Damn, it's been _hours_…"

A snort caught his attention and he turned to see an elderly woman looking straight at him from a neighboring window. Her expression was utterly scandalized, but she merely blubbered her contempt.

"What?" he asked tersely. "I'm taking a _piss_."

The woman let out a muffled, croaky scream and retreated from the window.

Col. Tavington finished and rolled his eyes.

"These _people_, no concern for personal relief and no respect for an _officer_! Christ be damned!"


End file.
